


The Horror Of Our Love

by thefangirlingdead



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Murder Husbands, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Violence, a little bit of dom/sub, dark!Will, oh god where do i start, there's also definitely some muder kink stuff going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlingdead/pseuds/thefangirlingdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're two parts of one whole, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. </p><p>Sometimes, Hannibal wishes their victims could see it. Sometimes he wishes that somebody else could appreciate the beauty of their relationship. But then again, he'd have to kill them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horror Of Our Love

**Author's Note:**

> _Moonlight walking_   
>  _I smell your softness_   
>  _Carnivorous and lusting_   
>  _To track you down among the pines_   
>  _I want you stuffed into my mouth_   
>  _Hold you down and tear you open_   
>  _Live inside you_   
>  _Oh, love I'd never hurt you_
> 
>  
> 
> _But I'll grind against your bones_  
>  _Until our marrows mix_  
>  _I will eat you slowly_  
>  _Oh, The horror of our love_  
>  _Never so much blood pulled through my veins_
> 
>  
> 
> [The Horror of Our Love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d25xlurNV0s) \- Ludo

They're two parts of one whole, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

While at times he never believed it could actually happen, Hannibal had always seen something special in Will. From the moment he laid eyes on him, he had known that there was more to Will than met the eye. More than Will himself even knew yet. He knew that Will was capable of beautiful, awful things, and that all he had to do was push him gently in the right direction.

Still, not even his imagination, nor his best, bloodiest dreams, could have prepared him for the spark of fire that lit up in Will's eyes the first time they killed together.

They're two parts of one whole, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter.

Will is wild and rough. He's ferocious and passionate and animalistic. He's not afraid to kick in doors and make a mess and listen to them scream as he slices them open, a wicked smile plastered on his bloodied face. And still, beneath his madness, he's precise, clean and lucid. Maybe it's due to his training, or the fact that he's been inside the mind of enough killers to know how not to leave behind evidence, but Hannibal likes to think it's because he's a natural.

He's full of fire and passion. Every kill is like sex to him. Every kill brings something new - something beautiful - into Will Graham's life, and sometimes, Hannibal just has to sit back and enjoy the show. It's not quite art, but it's definitely _something_ watching him work. Will's voice is always a bit rough, hard and metallic if and when he does speak to their victims. He doesn't bother hiding behind a veil, and instead, shows them his true self - the demon within. It's absolutely terrifying, and Hannibal thinks it's beautiful.

And after every kill - every time the life has left their eyes and Will is crouched next to them, bloody and panting and perfect - he always looks up to Hannibal. He never loses that look in his eyes; his willingness to please.

_Did I do a good job? Look what I did for you. For us._

And while Will is the complete opposite of Hannibal - Hannibal, who rarely loses his composure, even as he wraps his hands around the neck of one of their dinner guests, Will's eyes hot on him as he does so - he's a piece of him. An extension of him. Even when they don't speak a word while working - killing and butchering their next victim in silence - they move together in perfect synchronization. They don't have to speak. They just know. They flow around another with perfect ease and precision.

Sometimes, Hannibal wishes their victims could see it. Sometimes he wishes that somebody else could appreciate the beauty of their relationship. But then again, he'd have to kill them.

Looking hadn't been easy for Will at first, but now, it's almost like a game. After their first couple of kills, Will had almost succumb to panic attacks at the crime scenes, a few days later with Jack. The only thing that had kept him grounded was his loyalty to Hannibal and fear of being caught. After a few crime scenes, though - both Hannibal’s and his own - it became easier, and after a few more, even fun.

Will sometimes can't help the smile that creases his face when he closes his eyes, alone in the room with the body that they put there two days ago, as he re-imagines the murder before him. He can't help the smile on his face when he remembers the way that Hannibal had looked at him as he rose from the ground, panting and bloody, as if he were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And he can't help the way his heart races, fingers twitching, when he remembers the way that Hannibal had gripped him, rough and demanding, and kissed him hard.

No, now it's easy for Will to look at the crime scenes. And not just their own, either. He feels a since of clarity, now, reimagining other crime scenes. It's the best he's felt in years, and it's all thanks to Hannibal and their beautiful, fucked up relationship. Even Jack comments on it, a few months in, and Will just smiles and credits Dr. Lecter.

_He really is a wonderful psychiatrist._

Though Will is aware how to do it, Hannibal is still the one who usually cuts out the organs and the meat that they take home and store in the freezer. And Will honestly can't help the way that he stands over him, watching as he rips out a young girl's heart, or slices out a pianist's liver.

Usually, the ride home is quiet. A lot of the time, Will falls asleep, after changing out of his soiled clothes and tossing them into the trunk with their fresh, packaged meat. The majority of the time, when it's one of his own kills, he's exhausted and drained. Hannibal doesn't mind though. In fact, he sort of loves how Will manages to turn it off like a switch - one minute, he's screaming and slicing and killing, and the next, he's thanking Hannibal quietly, a smile on his face as he falls asleep against the car window.

Other times, Will is anxious. It's not that the thrill of the kill doesn't help settle him, because it usually does, but there are some nights - nights when their victim is stupid enough to fight back, or stupid enough to say something to enrage him even more - that it'll just wind him up more. Those nights, he sits next to Hannibal in the car, eyes straight ahead as his fingers drum restlessly on his legs. Those nights, he bites his lip, glancing over at Hannibal every few seconds, resisting the urge to leap over the center console of the car and kiss him hard and fast and rough.

Tonight is one of those nights.

It hadn't necessarily been a rough kill. No, everything went completely fine. Hannibal had told Will that tonight's kill could be his, and they followed their victim to the cabin that he was staying at for the weekend - alone, which was convenient - without any problems. Even breaking in and subduing him and slicing into him while he screamed till his voice gave out had been easy.

What had set things off had been Hannibal's hand, soft on Will's shoulder, just as he finished slicing deep into the man's throat. It's not that Hannibal doesn't touch him while he's killing. Will definitely remembers Hannibal leaning down next to him, one time in particular, whispering into his ear and kissing at his neck because their victim had made some sort of ridiculous homophobic comment. No, it's not that Hannibal is distant, or because he doesn't touch him or kiss him when they kill, but there had just been something in the way that he had looked at Will, when their eyes met. He had looked hungry, and Will had to stop himself from leaping on Hannibal and slamming him up against the wall of the small cabin right then and there.

No, they had work to do, so instead of losing himself in Hannibal, as Will often wishes he could immediately after a kill, he helps him clean up. He cleans the knife and helps Hannibal package their meat, and waits patiently.

Will isn't so patient once they reach the car, however.

Once drumming on his thighs gets old, Will huffs out a breath, turning his attention out of the window, watching as dark trees fly by. It's late - about one in the morning - and he knows that they won't be home for at least another thirty minutes, and he can't stand it.

When the dark view outside of the window proves uninteresting, Will sighs again, shifting in his seat, drumming lightly on his legs again. He knows that Hannibal is aware of how he's feeling. He always is. They're two parts of one whole, and Hannibal always knows how he's feeling. He also knows that Hannibal is trying very hard to control himself, as well, eyes fixed hard on the straight, unchanging road.

Will uses that to his advantage.

After a long moment of staring, low lidded, at Hannibal as he continues to stare straight ahead in the silent car, Will sighs again. He shifts yet again in his seat, sliding down so he's slouching, seat belt teasing at the stubble on his neck. He lets his legs spread slightly, palms sliding out across his knees. He lets out a deep breath and repeats the motion, hands smoothing the denim out over his legs. He's already half hard in his jeans, and just the thought of Hannibal stopping the car right here on the side of the road and climbing over the center console has him closing his eyes and holding back a whimper.

"Will." Hannibal's voice is strong and sturdy, and the sudden noise actually makes him jump, eyes opening.

He glances over at Hannibal in the driver’s seat, trying to hide the small smile that's twitching on his lips. "What?"

And while Hannibal admires Will and his passion, and as much as he wishes that he _could_ stop the car and have his way with him, he can't. It would be too big of a risk, pulling off to the side of the road, only miles away from their kill. Though he knows that the possibility of anyone finding the man for another couple of days is low - there was nobody around for miles, they had made sure of it - he won't take that chance. Not with the meat and Will's bloody clothes in the trunk, and not with Will next to him in the car.

"Stop," He says voice hard. He doesn't want to deny Will - exactly the opposite - but they can't risk it, not now. He will have to wait until they're in the comfort and safety of Hannibal's home

What he doesn't expect is the defiant " _No_ " that Will shoots back in return.

" _Will_ ," He pushes, waiting for another argument from him, "Patience." He sounds like a parent scolding a child, but apparently it works for now. Will doesn't sit up, but he stops the movement of the hands on his legs, and averts his gaze.

Apparently, those two words seem to work fairly well. While Will doesn't settle down completely - he's still anxious and restless, sighing and shifting in his seat every few seconds - he doesn't start touching himself again, and he doesn't try to get Hannibal to pull over again. He sits in the passenger seat for the remainder of their thirty minute drive, alternating between staring out the window, staring at Hannibal, and staring at his hands, which are still slightly stained red by blood. It's a good look on Will, restlessness and blood-soaked skin, and though it's hard to keep his eyes on the road and not on the man next to him, Hannibal doesn't mind it. Not too much, at least. If Will is patient, he'll get what he wants soon enough.

When they finally get back to Hannibal's house, pulling up and into the garage, Will still sits, as patient as he _can_ be, waiting. And when Hannibal wordlessly turns off the car and gets out, Will mimics his actions. He even obediently stands by Hannibal as he unloads the trunk, holding his hands out to carry his own blood-stained clothes and knife inside while Hannibal grabs the meat.

He follows Hannibal into the house where he diverts from his path momentarily, taking the clothes and the knife downstairs to be cleaned and disposed of while Hannibal heads for the kitchen to put the food away. And while he doesn't want to - he'd rather be in the kitchen, waiting for the go-ahead to do what he wants - Will makes a detour in the bathroom to wash his hands again, staring into the mirror as he does so. His eyes are wide, pupils completely blown out, and he looks breathless and anxious as his gaze darts over his own face and body. _This_ is what Hannibal does to him. Hannibal and the blood and the screams of the man he just killed.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. It feels good - the rush after a kill - but he needs to slow down. The last thing he needs is to accidentally rip Hannibal's throat out with his teeth because he's _too_ excited. No, he doesn't need to kill right now. The only thing he needs to do is go upstairs, kiss the breath out of Hannibal, and hope that they can make it to the bedroom before his clothes hit the floor, or else they never will. His cock is still half-hard in his jeans.

When Will returns to the kitchen, Hannibal's back is still to him. He's rummaging around in the freezer, finding room for their new meat, and Will lets himself pause for a moment, watching him work. He's not wearing his blazer anymore - it's draped over a chair at the table - and Will can easily see the way that his muscles move under the pale blue shirt.

Without a word, he's silently crossing the expanse of the dining room and kitchen, quickly closing the gap between them. By the time he reaches him, Hannibal is just closing the freezer, and Will takes it as his moment to act. He grabs him by the shoulder without a second thought, spinning him quickly around before pressing a hot, searing kiss onto his lips. His entire body melts into Hannibal's, pressing him roughly up against the refrigerator, and his hands come up to tangle in his hair, messing it up.

Hannibal doesn't react at first, simply allowing Will to kiss him hard and fast because it's what he _needs_. He's always sure to give Will what he needs after a night like this. After all, he had been good on the ride home. Or well, as good as he could be. Eventually, though, Hannibal's hands find their place at Will's hips, holding him securely in place as he complies, opening his mouth and allowing the kiss to deepen.

Will doesn't pull away until they're both panting and breathless, lips swollen and faces flushed, and when he does, there's this beautiful little smirk pulling at the corners of Hannibal's lips. He smiles back and return, dark and just as terrifying, and before he has a chance to make another move, Hannibal is lunging forward instead, kissing him hard and fast. His teeth are sharp when they dig into his bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and he has Will moaning out at that, gripping onto his shirt and his shoulders and anything he can get his hands on.

Though Hannibal loves it when Will takes what he wants - when he's rough and confident and demanding after a kill - he'll never get tired of the way that the other man completely _melts_ against him when he takes charge. And while it's good to let Will take the reins every once in a while, so to speak, he'll always love making Will come apart under his hands, leaving him panting and begging underneath him. And after a stunt like tonight - the way he had acted in the car - it's exactly what he needs, and what Will deserves.

Hannibal's fingers dig roughly into the soft skin of Will's hips and ass, pulling his shirt up and pressing his jeans down. He knows that it's rough, and probably pretty uncomfortable, and it's exactly what he wants it to be. He doesn't want this to be soft and gentle and loving. Neither of them do. It needs to be hard and rough and fast. He pulls Will's body tightly against his own, growling into his mouth as he kisses him breathless. He practically _owns_ Will's mouth, mapping it out with his tongue and teeth, and Will goes completely slack against him, allowing him to do as he pleases.

When Hannibal eventually pulls away, it's with a messy string of saliva and blood and he can clearly see the faint red staining Will's bruised, swollen lips. He's not certain which of them is bleeding, but he honestly couldn't care less, and apparently, either can Will, who only takes a moment before he's leaning in again sucking a hungry kiss onto Hannibal's neck.

" _Please_ ," Will breaths in between wet kisses and nips. He's untucking and unbuttoning Hannibal's shirt quickly and sloppily now, hands desperate for skin-to-skin contact. " _Please, please_."

"Please what?" Hannibal grits out, watching with half lidded eyes as Will fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. It's not one of his favorites and he'd gladly just rip the remaining buttons off for the contact, but he likes watching Will work, desperate and hard and shaky.

" _Anything_ ," Will whines in return. He only has two buttons left, but his hands are shaking with anticipation. He has to take a few quick breaths to calm himself and still his hands before he's popping them open and sliding the fabric down Hannibal's arms. He gasps in a breath before lunging forward, mouth on Hannibal's chest and collar bone, as if he's desperate to map out his entire body with his mouth.

"Fuck, Hannibal," Will rasps between kisses and licks and bites. He's thrusting forward desperately now, aching for any kind of friction between their bodies. "I don't care just - _fuck -_ just fuck me."

Hannibal takes a moment to let go of Will's hip with one of his hands - earning a small hiss from him - to cup his chin and pull his face up to look at him. Will's face is flushed. His lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are wide, pupils blown out. "Here?" Hannibal asks, and he can't help but smirk with the way that his question makes Will tremble.

" _Anywhere_ ," Will replies, voice barely above a whisper. He's rocking forward again, and Hannibal can't help but give in a little, too, returning his thrust. "Just - _god_ \- please."

And that's all it takes for Hannibal's patience to break. He's pushing Will at that, hand flat in the center of his chest, eyes dark as he watches him move obediently, without question. He smiles at the shock in Will's eyes when he backs into the dining room table, and the grin only widens when Will realizes what's being asked of him.

"Here?" Will asks, eyes wide, even as he allows Hannibal to press him back harder against the table.

"You said anywhere," Hannibal retorts, and he savors the look on Will's face and the tremor that runs through his body when he says it.

Will pulls his own shirt over his head quickly at that, leaning in to kiss Hannibal, but he's stopped with a rough hand at his jaw. "Wha-" He begins, but he's cut off by another hot, quick and demanding kiss on his lips.

"Turn around," Hannibal orders when he pulls away, eyes low, and Will can't help the moan that escapes his lips in response. He does as he's told, turning so that he's facing the dining room table. Hannibal doesn't even so much as give him a warning before he's placing a hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades, and pushing him roughly so he's leaning on the table, face pressed into the table cloth.

" _Oh god,_ " Will mutters at the sudden roughness, fingers gripping what they can of the cloth, " _Please_."

"Patience," Hannibal repeats his line from the car, even as his free hand travels down Will's back to his hips, fingers teasing the skin underneath his jeans. Will shivers under his touch, struggling to keep his body still.

After a moment of Will's cooperation, and once Hannibal's certain that he'll listen, he leans in, pressing a kiss to the center to his back, one hand wrapping around to his front to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. Will's breathing is already labored underneath him, but he manages to hold himself together, only letting out a small whine when Hannibal grazes his cock in the process of pulling his jeans and underwear down.

"Lube?" Hannibal breaths against Will's ear, bodies still pressed together, and Will shudders at the sound of his voice.

"Front pocket of my jeans," He murmurs in response, and Hannibal can't help but smile slightly. He had planned this. Of course he had. After months of killing together, Will knew what usually came afterward.

Hannibal reaches down to pull the tube out of Will's pants, keeping a steadying hand on his hip. He slicks up his fingers and dips them down, letting them drag teasingly over the small of Will's back and his ass, down until they press just slightly against his hole. 

" _Hannibal_ -"

"Shh," He soothes, squeezing Will's hip with his other hand. At that, he's pressing two fingers inside, savoring the slight hiss of pain that Will makes at the sudden intrusion. He waits for a beat for Will to adjust to it before pumping his fingers in and pulling them back out, then repeating the action. He watches with a small smile on his lips as Will's head falls forward on the table, fingers clenching around the table cloth, and drapes his body over him at that, pushing him forward slightly.

"How bad do you want it?" Hannibal whispers in Will's ear, knowing that if he asks, he can turn Will into a babbling, moaning mess underneath him.

"Oh _God_ ," Will whines. He cants his hips back against Hannibal's fingers, desperate to _feel_. "Please..."

"Tell me," Hannibal murmurs, lips brushing against skin.

"So bad," Will murmurs in return. His voice is breathy and a whine catches in the back of his throat when Hannibal adds a third finger into the mix. " _So fucking bad_. Please, Hannibal."

Hannibal pumps his fingers in and out a couple more times before withdrawing them, earning a low groan from Will in the process. He smiles, presses a small kiss to his back between his shoulder blades, and stands up to undo his trousers, disregarding his shoes and socks in the process. It can wait because Will needs him, and he needs to be inside of Will. _Now._

When his pants and underwear fall to the ground, Will shudders beneath him, pressing his hips back again. "Please, Hannibal."

And Hannibal, never one to give in that easily, simply leans forward, letting his own cock just barely brush past his slick hole while he reaches forward, pumping Will's hard and leaking member a couple of times. Will is stuck between wanting to thrust into Hannibal's hand or press backward against his cock and thrashes his head back and forth on the table a couple of times, groaning. " _Jesus_..."

When Hannibal finally does comply, he presses forward just slightly, until the head of his cock pushes past the first rim of muscles, savoring the low moan that Will lets out in return. " _Oh my god_ ," He groans, pushing back slightly and successfully pulling Hannibal in deeper, "Please, just _move_."

Hannibal smiles slightly in return, leaning down to press another kiss to Will's back. "As you wish." And at that, he's snapping his hips forward roughly, earning a loud cry from Will.

He holds on to Will's hips with rough fingers, pressing into his skin hard enough to leave marks, just the way that Will likes it. He savors the bruises afterward, examining them in the bathroom mirror, pressing his own fingers into them until they hurt, and Hannibal has no problem putting them there, if that's what he wants. He leans down, biting at Will's back as he thrusts into him, almost hard enough to push the dining room table back, and some part of Hannibal knows that they'll never be able to have dinner guests over again without thinking about _this_.

Will is a moaning, thrashing mess underneath him within minutes, hips canting back to meet Hannibal's, thrust for thrust. The table cloth is balled up in his fists now, and his teeth are clenched between little gasps and muttered words of encouragement.

" _Oh god, please, Hannibal. Just like that. Fuck."_

Hannibal reaches forward with one hand, his own impending orgasm low in his stomach, but instead of wrapping a hand around Will and helping him get there, he reaches up, _up_ until he reaches his throat. He lets his fingers wrap around it gently at first, just barely pressing into Will's Adam’s apple, and when Will just moans loudly in return, throwing his head back for better access, Hannibal takes the hint. He lets his hand enclose around Will's throat, pressing hard enough to cut off his air flow. Hard enough to stop his breathing.

His hips speed up, pounding into Will now - _Will_ , who's mouth is open in a silent, breathless scream at the hand around his neck – savoring the soft _slap slap slap_ of skin against skin and the way that Will trembles beneath him, on the verge of orgasm. It only takes a few more seconds, a few more pumps before he's spilling inside of him, leaning down to bite roughly at Will's shoulder. Will follows shortly after, body jerking as he comes untouched, and Hannibal finally lets go of his throat.

Will slumps forward on the table, legs trembling and struggling to hold him up when Hannibal pulls away to reach for a napkin to clean up. He remains there, panting and breathless, until Hannibal turns him around to examine him.

"Hey," Will slurs, eyes heavy, mouth twisting up into a wicked smile. Even from the one word, Hannibal can tell that is voice is _wrecked._ That the next time they kill, he'll be yelling at their victim with a rough, hoarse voice. The thought is almost enough to make him hard again, had he not just come.

He smiles in return, taking Will's face between his hands. " _Hey_ ," He repeats in a whisper.

"Thank you," Will rasps, leaning in to grip at Hannibal's arms and pressing their lips together. He tastes of blood and sex and violence, and Hannibal wouldn't have it any other way as he presses back into him.

They're two parts of one whole, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter.

 


End file.
